Hawk's Prize (12 page)

The problem was organization. Chantalle didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word.

Despite Chantalle’s reputation as a businesswoman, bills were listed helter-skelter; monetary advances were issued, noted haphazardly, and apparently forgotten; generous salaries were paid under circumstances that were not warranted; and monumental contributions were made to local charities that had obviously been kept secret from the general populace of the city—contributions that had drained the profit from the house as well as Chantalle’s surprisingly modest bank account.

Tricia shook her head. Chantalle not only needed an accountant. She needed a keeper.

Despite those thoughts, Tricia felt the stirring of a new pride in the dear woman. She had always been aware that Chantalle was a far more generous person than anyone realized. Chantalle had taken on responsibility for her as a child when Chantalle had had so little that she needed to sell herself to survive. Chantalle had worked her way up in an atmosphere that was generally sordid, but she had committed many selfless acts along the way.

Tricia sighed as her mind slipped back to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. There was another example of Chantalle’s charity. Chantalle had generously ignored the cost of caring for a former Confederate soldier, although at the time she hadn’t even known his name. But Chantalle had limited her kindness to impersonal
aid, keeping herself a friendly distance from the fellow.

Tricia sighed. She wished belatedly that she had done the same.

Confused by the ache deep inside her, Tricia closed the ledger and sat motionless for long moments. Strangely, the conversation with Chantalle that she had dreaded—the discussion of her future—had been brought up again since she had returned. She supposed the reason was simple. She had spent day and night at Drew’s bedside. In the time since Willie Childers’s return, he had taken over many of her tasks, but she had spent her spare time helping Polly cook and tending to Chantalle’s books. Yet she knew that with Drew’s departure, the inevitable would come.

That would be soon—too soon to suit her.

Tricia covered her eyes with her hand.

Damn!

She looked up at the clock on Chantalle’s wall. It was getting late. The business of the house would continue for a few more hours, but she would soon retire for the night. First, however, she’d check in on Drew and make sure he and Willie had everything they needed. Seeing to their comfort was her duty, after all.

Bruce dozed fitfully. He was frustrated and hot in the airless closet. The hours had stretched incredibly long. His last look at his pocket watch had confirmed that the bordello would soon finish up business for the night. The doors would then be locked and his chances of escaping unnoticed would lessen. He had crept out of the closet a short time earlier to check whether
Collins’s friend had possibly slipped out of the room without his knowledge. A quick peek had revealed that both Collins and his friend were asleep—Collins in the satin-covered bed, and his friend a dozing watchdog in the upholstered chair close by.

Irritated, Bruce had then slipped back into the closet, hoping that Childers would leave the room soon, if only for a few minutes. A few minutes would be all he needed.

The sound of approaching footsteps outside the closet door snapped Bruce fully alert. Drawing back more deeply into the closet, he held his breath, and then released it softly when the light footsteps passed by and came to an unexpected halt. He peeked out into the hallway and saw a beautiful young woman pause with her hand poised to knock on Collins’s door. Apparently thinking better of it, she pushed the door open slowly and looked inside. He saw her back up as Willie Childers slipped out into the hallway beside her. Bruce listened as they started to speak.

“I’m glad you’re here, ma’am.”

Willie had been instantly alert at the sound of Tricia opening the door. He hastened out into the hallway and drew the door closed behind him. Looking at her directly, he said, “Drew told me everything you did for him while he was sick, and I never did get the chance to thank you, ma’am. Drew is like a brother to me. We promised each other that we’d come through the war together. I suppose that was a crazy promise to make, but Providence helped us to keep it. It would’ve been
hard if a single, foolish argument had separated us when we came through everything else so fine.”

“I really didn’t do that much.”

“Yes, you did, ma’am. Drew told me you didn’t give up when the doc almost did.”

“He told you that?”

“Well . . . Drew said some things are kind of mixed up in his head, but one thing he knew for sure. You were there every time he opened his eyes.”

“Oh . . . well, he doesn’t owe me anything, if that’s what he thinks. You’ve both already done so much by risking your lives in battle.”

“Thank you for saying that, ma’am.” Willie smiled. “That means a lot, especially since you spent the duration of the war mostly up North with the Yankees.”

Tricia hastened to say, “Willie, I hope you can understand. I had no enemies during that terrible war, and the wounded soldiers I tended didn’t wear any particular uniform. I just did my best to help out wherever I could.”

“I understand, ma’am. Really I do. My Uncle Fred and Aunt Chloe told me I was a fool to fight for the Confederacy, but that didn’t stop them from welcoming me home with a smile a few days ago.”

Tricia stared into Willie’s clear, blue eyes, feeling tears well up in her own. He was a dear young man. There was a catch in her voice when she replied, “I know your words are sincere, Willie. I only wish I could make Drew understand as well.”

“Drew’s different from me, ma’am.” Willie shrugged his shoulders. “He doesn’t trust easily and he takes things hard. It won’t be easy for him to forget that a
lot of the fellas we knew and liked won’t ever be going home because they fought for something they believed in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I guess the difference is that I had a family to go home to . . . folks that I could trust to make it all seem right again somehow. That’s why I wanted Drew to come home with me, so’s some of that might rub off on him.” Willie’s youthful face momentarily fell. “I almost ruined it when I let my temper get the best of me and went off and left Drew here, but now that I’ve got a second chance, I’m going to make sure I follow through.”

“I can understand that.”

“Drew’s a fine man, ma’am. I know he seems hard sometimes, but there ain’t a better friend than he is.”

“I believe you.” Tricia made an effort to conclude a conversation that was becoming painful as she said, “I just stopped by to make sure you had everything you need tonight.”

“We do, but . . .” Willie frowned. “I wanted to go downstairs to check on my horse. He was limping when I got here and I need to make sure his hoof is being taken care of. It might take me a while to check him over, though, and Drew’s sleeping so I can’t tell him where I’m going. I was wondering if you’d mind staying here just in case he wakes up. I don’t want him to think I ran off on him again.”

“I’m sure he’d never think that.”

“Ma’am . . . could you?”

“Of course. I’ll stay until you get back. It’s no problem at all.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Tricia watched as Willie walked rapidly down the hallway. She pushed open the bedroom door when he disappeared from sight. She walked softly to the bed and looked down at Drew as he slept. He looked good, better than he’d ever looked before. His color had returned—a healthy color that emphasized the chiseled planes of his face and contrasted vividly with his dark hair and brows.

Drew mumbled something in his sleep, and Tricia moved closer. His lips moved again, and she leaned down to listen. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized what he was saying.

He was mumbling her name.

Tricia backed up, halting when her legs hit the upholstered chair behind her. Her throat was tight as she stared at Drew’s sleeping countenance . . . as she silently wondered, did she whisper his name in her sleep, too?

Sweating profusely, hardly able to breathe in the closeness of the closet, Bruce swore under his breath as Collins’s bedroom door closed behind the woman. She had told Willie Childers that she wouldn’t leave until he came back. That meant any chance he’d had of accomplishing the job Simon had set for him was gone for the night.

Damn her! If she hadn’t shown up, Childers would have been forced to leave Collins alone while he went down to check on his horse, and Bruce could have finished
the job he had come for. All he could hope for now was that he’d be able to leave the house unseen.

Bruce took a breath, scanned the hallway, then stepped out into the open and made his way toward the rear doorway.

Out on the street a few minutes later, he glanced cautiously behind him, then walked to the spot where he had secured his horse a little distance away. He managed to escape without being seen, but he still had to face Simon in the morning.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Elizabeth Huntington Dodd moved quietly around Mother Ella’s empty bedroom in her New York City mansion. The dear woman was gone. Her strained, uneven breathing would never again sound in the room; nor would Elizabeth ever see her smiling face.

Elizabeth fussed with a few meaningless details in the silent room, consoling herself, as she had throughout the funeral the previous day, that Mother Ella had passed peacefully and with the grace that had marked her entire life.

Elizabeth turned to study the picture of the woman she had loved so dearly. Captured on her wedding day in the glory of her youth, Ella stood beside a sober, equally youthful Wilbur Huntington. The sense of wonder and the loving commitment that marked that day and set the tone for the rest of their lives was written in their expressions. That promise had never waned. Instead, it had expanded to take Elizabeth in.
The gratitude and admiration she felt for both those dear people had grown greater over the years, along with a love that knew no bounds—a love that had been returned in kind.

It did not cease to amaze her that despite Mother Ella’s rapid deterioration after Jason and she returned home, the dear woman was never without a smile. She realized that Mother Ella had been happy simply because she had returned
home;
because she had brought Jason with her; because she had given Mother Ella the opportunity to be present when she married the man who would love her and care for her the rest of her life.

A sob choked Elizabeth’s throat at the realization that Mother Ella had then been content to go to the better place that had been waiting for her—where Wilbur was ready to welcome her with open arms.

Unable to bear the thought of that loss a moment longer, Elizabeth went to the bedroom door. Out in the hallway, she looked up to see Jason approaching. She took the few steps into his embrace in a rush. Closing her eyes briefly as his strong arms closed around her, she whispered, “I can’t believe she’s gone, Jason.”

“I know.” His response was filled with a wealth of meaning that went unsaid.

Elizabeth remained in his embrace for a few minutes before she looked up into the dark eyes scrutinizing her with loving empathy and said, “I’ll always love her, and this house will always bear tender memories for me.”

“I know that, too,” Jason said gently. “Take as much time as you need here, darlin’.”

Elizabeth nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She went still when she felt Jason stiffen and saw his expression alter suddenly. She turned around sharply to see her cousin Trevor enter the hallway.

Jason watched as Trevor Huntington started toward them. Elizabeth had tried to convince him that Trevor was a decent young man who had done his best during the difficult circumstances of their youth, and that the torments he had endured because of her had endeared him to her.

Jason watched as Elizabeth left his side to welcome Trevor warmly. Following a few steps behind her, Jason approached them slowly, his expression noncommittal. Trevor was Elizabeth’s cousin and the only family she presently knew, yet there were some things that Jason had not been able to make himself forgive. He doubted that he ever would.

Nagging at Jason’s peace of mind was the occurrence Chantalle had related to him prior to their leaving Galveston. He knew Elizabeth had originally gone to Galveston in the hope of solving the mystery of her past—a mystery that he believed accounted for her nightmares of a fire. The nightmares continued to haunt her dreams, and he believed that only solving that mystery could free her of them. If Chantalle were right, if Elizabeth’s pendant did bear the same crest as the ring that Whit Hawk had shown her, the discovery of Elizabeth’s true family might be at hand.

He also needed to return to Galveston because he would be unable to rest until he proved that Simon
Gault had collaborated with the enemy during the war and was responsible for the death of Jason’s friend Byron Mosley. For a reason he did not yet understand, Gault was also presently doing his best to negate Jason’s efforts to prove to the Galveston consortium that Houston was a threat to its future.

It was time to find out more.

“Jason, I found some papers in Mother Ella’s study that I wanted Trevor to go over with me. He says he has some time now and we’re going to read through them. ”

Jason looked at the thin, pale young man. Trevor returned his gaze equally soberly as Elizabeth stood beside him. Jason noted the way Trevor glanced down briefly at Elizabeth. There was true affection in the fellow’s gaze . . . an affection that he suspected Trevor had not formerly been allowed to display.

“Jason?”

“Of course, go ahead. I have some things to do in our room.” Jason noted Elizabeth’s relief and he smiled. He loved every bit of her, from the top of her honey-brown hair to the tip of her leather-clad toes. He wanted her to be happy. He would spend his life ensuring it.

Waiting only until Elizabeth and Trevor had disappeared at the curve in the staircase, Jason started back down the hallway. Entering his room, he closed the door behind him and then walked to the small desk in the corner. Seated there with paper in front of him and a pen in hand, he started to write: